


it glows and it breaks

by freloux



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the doctor has a trauma episode. clara helps him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it glows and it breaks

**Author's Note:**

> I have several longer Clara/Twelve pieces in the works, but today I just felt like writing shorter romantic/angsty porn. What else is new?

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't say anything as the Doctor yells, screams, cries, because it hurts, his whole body hurts, and he feels like the weight of time is going to crush him down. There is love in her silence, a tenderness that reaches out and draws him back to himself. Her silence says I am here with you. Clara presses their hands together and curls her fingers past his, holds him tight. _And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss,_ he thinks, wildly, remembering years and years and regenerations ago when he got drunk with Shakespeare and learned what he really meant by that line. It almost makes him laugh. Almost.

Mostly, he just feels completely outside of himself. He's so blind with this: he wants to take all the hurt that has been dealt him and throw it back. Tell them all to go to hell and go on hiding in his box, where none of this will ever reach him. It's always Clara that stops him. It's like holding his hand is a restraint in itself.

The tears eventually stop spilling. The rage subsides. He's left with an ache, a ghost of all his pain, that sits hard on his chest. He's distantly aware that Clara is still holding his hand. She gives him a squeeze, then another, like two little heartbeats. She doesn't ask him how he is - she never asks, because she always seems to know.

Clara has given - she gives - so much of herself to him that he wants to give back to her, so he guides her to the floor. Her skin looks faintly alien under the orange and blue lights of the TARDIS. He reaches under her thighs and pulls away her stockings, her underwear. He goes slowly over her, licking gently into her folds and tastes her wet, then wetter still, on his tongue. Clara nests a hand in his curls and guides his head, shows him where to move. Her other hand goes back to holding his, a tiny commitment that rests on her thigh. She sighs, a sound that arcs into a moan as she starts to come - her orgasm is slow, too, a steady build of tremors in her thigh until she gasps, twists, is gone.

He wants to keep going, though, so he does. She gasps again when she realizes that he's still not done. With every motion of his tongue, he tells her everything that she means to him. "Doctor - " Clara whimpers. The word ends on a high break that goes straight to both his hearts.


End file.
